THREE DROPS OF BLOOD (34 page)

With silver paint around her eyes and pale pink tinting her cheeks and lips, she had to
grudgingly admit that maybe Megassa did know what she was doing. Efrin's call of panic,
reaching down to the soul level, came while Meghianna stared at the frothy confection of silver
beads and ribbons that bound her hair high on her head.

Her father's panic, aided by the star-metal in the marriage band he wore, cut through
Meghianna's wonder. She felt an echo of Glyssani's pain, sharp like claws digging into her belly,
also brought to her through her star-metal marriage band. Meghianna dropped the silver mirror,
leaped to run, and nearly tripped over the flimsy silver and pale blue gossamer robe her sister had
insisted would look becoming on her. She was right, of course, but Meghianna hated the draping
skirts that insisted on tangling around her legs as she fled her sister's room.

Mrillis met her, coming from his workroom. She beat him through the door to her
father's quarters by two steps.

Glyssani lay curled up in a shivering ball on the floor, only a dozen steps from the couch
where Meghianna had seen her a few hours before. By the blue and amber gown she wore and
the jewels decorating her hair, she had been preparing for Court dinner. Blood and some other
dark liquid stained her skirts. Meghianna felt a fierce delight that was half a need to pay for her
frivolity, knowing her fancy clothes would be ruined, too, as she went to her knees and wrapped
her arms around the suffering woman. The stink of pain-filled sweat soaked into her clothes and
stung her skin.

Poison,
she called to Mrillis, as her healing gift brought her that certainty.
No illness.
Then she could spare no energy even for that communication, as she flung all
her strength and concentration and force of will into healing Glyssani.

In only a few heartbeats, she knew it was too late. The baby, only a few moons formed,
was dead. All that remained to her was to ease Glyssani's pain, purge her blood, and stop the
bleeding that came from the wrenching in her violated womb.

Sleep,
she sang to the deepest part of Glyssani's mind and spirit. Meghianna
fought sobs, when she wanted so desperately to assure the woman her child was safe.

* * * *

Meghianna couldn't remember the last time she had seen her father cry. She didn't like
it. Efrin was supposed to be the strong one who comforted and led others. He didn't collapse and
cling and roar his anguish, but only sat on the edge of Glyssani's bed and held her hand while his
shoulders shook and tears streamed down his cheeks and dripped from the edges of his beard.
His quiet suffering only made the whole tragedy worse.

"Tell no one of this," he barked, when Meghianna and Mrillis had finished cleaning up
the last of the spilled blood and soiled clothes, to take them away. "I won't have any of those
vultures in Court gleeful at our loss."

"Yes, Papa," Meghianna whispered. "What about Megs?"

"Especially her." Efrin raised his head in response to her gasp. "She insists that Glyssani
and I are too old to have children, and I think she wants to be my heir a little too much."

"Not her, Papa. Lorkin."

"They are one and the same now." He shook his head and gestured for them to go.

Meghianna swallowed down her hurt at the abrupt dismissal, and told herself it was only
Efrin's deep pain and sorrow speaking. She shivered a little at the bitterness in her father's voice.
Had she missed clear signs, and Megassa was indeed maneuvering to find a way to sit on their
father's throne, despite all her years of saying she didn't want the crown? She had been so
determined to avoid any man who saw her as a pathway to the throne--had she fallen under
Lorkin's control and allowed herself to be made a tool?

"He is in pain," Mrillis said, after a long walk in silence to the laundry rooms, far on the
other side of the fortress, to get rid of the dirty clothes. "Pain and grief blinds us, so we lash out
at those who stand closest to us."

"Inflicting pain and venting anger is often the best medicine for a wounded soul."

"Perhaps." He wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her against his side. Until he
took some of her weight on him, Meghianna hadn't realized how her legs ached and her whole
body shook with weariness. "You need your bed. You did well tonight."

"I did not. I could not save the baby," she rasped, her throat aching with the force of her
words, and from weariness.

"She was already dead before you came into the room. Yes,
she
was. I
examined her while you tended Glyssani. She was poisoned."

"Who would want to kill a child--no, no one knew of her yet. Papa and Glyssani kept it
secret." She clutched at his sleeves when his face darkened and his gaze wouldn't meet hers, and
she knew he had thought of something he didn't want to share with her. "What is it? What do you
know?"

"This is a discussion best held in private, and I am too weary to speak through the
Threads. Come." He tightened his arm around her and led her back up the flights of stairs, to his
workroom. Meghianna kept silent, her mind racing, and she studied his face. Whatever he had
thought of, it had dredged up old memories touched with pain.

They passed several servants, carrying trays of leftover food from dinner. A surge of
anger stabbed Meghianna, burning from the back of her head down into her stomach. How could
the Court feast while Glyssani and Efrin mourned their unborn child?

It didn't help her anger to remember that Mrillis had only told the servants that the queen
was ill and Efrin chose to stay with her and eat in their quarters. No one missed them at the meal,
because Megassa, as the bride, was the center of attention.

"Lad." Mrillis gestured with his free hand. "Bring enough food for two to my quarters.
No, enough for four." He squeezed Meghianna a little closer. "The Estall knows, we've earned
it."

"I don't think I could eat anything," she whispered.

"You'll be ravenous, the moment you put something in your mouth. What is the most
important rule of using magic?"

"Never to force... Oh, yes. To take good care of the tools the Estall gave to us, which
means tending the body and not neglecting its needs." She sighed. The pressure of tears she was
too weary to shed made her head hurt.

They continued in silence the rest of the way to Mrillis' workroom, and she was grateful
to sink into the first chair she saw. A tiny corner of her mind recognized the faded green tapestry
cushion of the chair. This was her chair, the one she always sat in, from the time she was a little
child and needed two cushions to see the top of the table and read the scrolls Mrillis set out for
her lessons. There was some comfort in that unchanging aspect.

A faint shimmer of magic brushing against her
imbrose
told her Mrillis had
sealed the room, so that no one could hear what was said. That helped rouse Meghianna from the
exhaustion and sorrow dragging her down. She looked around for him, and saw him pouring
wine, darker than blood, into two clay cups. Her gorge rose at the thought of the syrupy
sweetness of that particular wine, even knowing it was used to hide the bitterness and texture of
the healing powders she watched him put into the liquid. Meghianna waited until he stood before
her, gently swirling the contents of the cups, before she raised her hand to take one.

The medicine didn't take effect until the third swallow hit her stomach.

"I am repaid for lack of sympathy," she muttered, and cleared her throat a few times
when several clumps of un-dissolved powder insisted on sticking just at the right place to make
her choke.

"Ah, yes." Mrillis' smile held more weariness than humor. "We do have a tendency to
tell people that the cure is worse than the illness or the wound, as the Estall's way of reminding
us to be more careful."

"What did Glyssani do to deserve to be poisoned?" Meghianna almost felt too weary to
shake her head in confusion. She looked into the cup with one last swallow of dosed wine. Her
attention caught on the wet stains on the skirts of her ridiculously fluttery, uncharacteristically
delicate gown. At the back of her thoughts, she knew it was her mind's way of trying to fend off
the shock of what had happened, distracting her with inconsequential concerns until she could
grow some numbness around the concept.

"She is a woman who is still fertile, despite having a grown son, and she is married to
the most powerful man in the World. For everyone who devoutly prays for a legitimate male
heir, there is someone who will do whatever it takes to prevent that birth."

"But no one knew--"

"The poison is not to kill an unborn child, but to prevent conception." Mrillis watched
her as she went utterly still and digested that bit of information. "When I was a boy, Afron
Warhawk's queen was poisoned, gradually, to prevent conception. She had given Afron four
children, and the youngest, a mere baby at the time, was the male heir. And all four children
were killed by a storm guided and made deadly by blood magic. The poison was given in small
doses, over a long period of time. By the time the truth was revealed, the damage had been done.
The Warhawk's lady was unable to bear any more children. That is why Athrar was his uncle's
heir. The good news, if there can be any this sad night, is that the poison has only recently been
administered. It caused her to lose the babe, but did not render Glyssani infertile."

"Yet." Meghianna shuddered at the bitterness in her own voice. "So someone wants to
prevent Glyssani from having children." She shook her head. "The question is, who would profit
most from doing that? I refuse to believe my vision of Papa holding my newborn brother can be
negated. Therefore, it is up to us to find out who the poisoner is and make sure it does not
continue."

"Us." He nodded, and though he didn't smile, some small bit of pleasure gleamed in his
eyes. "We do make a good team, don't we?"

"Who would want to prevent Papa from having a son?"

"The question is, who would have a chance at sitting on the Warhawk's throne if there
was no heir?" Mrillis sighed and gestured at the long worktable by the window, covered with
messenger pouches and scrolls and wax tablets full of kingdom business. "Because the
Warhawk's line has a tendency to have only one or two children in each generation, there are
many offshoots who have weak but equal claims. However, those claims can gain strength if the
right factions among the Council of Lords and the various minor kings decide to champion a
claimant. King Markas even has a growing crowd willing to support him as Efrin's heir."

"But he's only a stepson, not a blood relative at all."

"Haven't you been paying attention to the rumors all these years?" He shook his head,
making a
tsk
ing sound. "Your love of scholarship holds you too strongly in the past, my
dear. To serve our world, you must pay attention to the present, as well."

"Oh, drat." Meghianna made a sour face. "Those silly rumors that Papa seduced
Glyssani while Timark was on the plain, fighting invading forces? Those are still around, I
suppose."

"And rumors that he is actually Markas' father, and used the tunnel below the sea for
many discrete and short visits to Glyssani over the years."

"We never should have reminded the Noveni that the tunnel exists."

"The sad truth is that those who oppose the Warhawk will believe anything, no matter
how ridiculous and salacious, if it will serve to undermine his authority and reputation, and give
them a chance of gaining power."

"So we have many who have a claim to the throne, and many scheming allies to those
claimants, who hope to curry favor with the future Warhawk by removing obstacles. No matter
who gets hurt." She shook her head. "I loathe politics."

* * * *

The next morning, when Efrin was finally willing to leave Glyssani's side, Mrillis and
Meghianna met with him in private, to give him what they discovered and what they suspected.
Mrillis ached for Efrin, pale, with dark smears of sleeplessness under his eyes, and a flat,
determined hardness to his mouth. He sat stiff and still in his chair at his worktable,
uncharacteristically clear of papers and scrolls and tablets. They sat before him like petitioners
presenting a defense for someone facing judgment.

"Our minds follow the same trail," the Warhawk said, when they finished. "I have spent
half the night listing my enemies and those who might want to steal the throne. We could spend
moons, even years asking questions and investigating quietly, discretely, and all the while my
Glyssani will be endangered. I say we should take a lesson from history and assume everyone is
an enemy. Show no mercy, no matter how much love and loyalty there appears to be between us,
because appearances are deceiving."

"Papa--" Meghianna reached for his hand and froze, visibly hurt, when he jerked free of
her comforting touch.

"No. I can't afford to be cautious. This is a time for swords, not for diplomats, Meggi. I
am asking you as Warhawk to Queen of Snows." He swallowed hard. "I am ordering you, father
to daughter. Use the spell Master Breylon rediscovered, to search into the depths of the mind and
soul. I want answers quickly. I don't care who is hurt."

"You should," Mrillis said quietly, meeting Efrin's red-rimmed glare with one of his
own. "Such action will paint you as a tyrant, a man ruled by his heart."

"And a man who takes quick, decisive action, putting justice and the safety of the
innocent above all else. Even ties of blood and love," Meghianna said. A hint of tears glimmered
in the corners of her eyes, and she looked more pale than usual, but she nodded approval and her
voice was steady. "Megassa and Markas are at the top of your tally of enemies, aren't they,
Papa?"

"Lorkin," Efrin growled. "But as I said before, Megassa and Lorkin are one and the
same now. If she is her mother's daughter."